


Dinner and a Show

by Laylah



Category: Tales of Symphonia, Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Collars, Community: kink_bingo, Crossover, D/s, F/M, Femdom, Podfic Available, Public Sex, SSC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-26
Updated: 2010-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They know me," Kaufman says, "and they're probably hearing about you. I expect they're all wondering what a duke of the empire is doing here with me." She gives that a moment to catch his imagination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner and a Show

**Author's Note:**

> Podfic recorded by Rhea available here: http://amplificathon.livejournal.com/1114829.html

She knows him by reputation long before they first meet in person. If Fortune's Market had any real competition from the Empire -- which Kaufman opines that they still don't -- then Regal Bryant's Lezareno Group would be it. The company is well-managed, its interests diversified, its products pretty reliable in their quality. And its president is quite a character -- he's a noble, which is rare enough in real business, but he also has some kind of a checkered past with rumors of lost love and prison time. It almost sounds like a shame he's not a Guild man.

Kaufman meets him during the founding of Aurnion; his company is one of the contributors. The rumors didn't say nearly enough about how polite and reasonable he is, especially for a duke. And they definitely neglected to mention the part where he's handsome in the solid, broad-shouldered way that always makes her want to see a man on his knees.

And then they're wrapping up a meeting one evening and she says, "Bryant, can I give this job to you?"

He nods. "I am yours to command, Madam President," he says. He sounds a lot more sincere than most guys who try a line like that.

What the hell. Kaufman likes a good gamble. "Better watch yourself, making offers like that," she says, and winks. "Any of my men will tell you I'm a slavedriver."

His eyebrows raise for a moment. "Well then," he says. "Perhaps I should reserve the offer for more interesting circumstances."

That's reason enough for her to stay in touch with him after things calm down. Their letters are polite, almost formal at first; mostly, they discuss business, though Kaufman drops hints occasionally about her less professional interests, and Regal -- he insists on being Regal, not Duke Bryant -- seems to be responding in kind. Curious, Kaufman does a little more digging into his background, finds the story about him doing public, voluntary penance in handcuffs and a prison uniform. Their letters get less formal, more intimate.

When she proposes that he come see her, he replies almost immediately. He isn't sure he could fall in love again, he explains in careful, gently apologetic prose; he doesn't want to make offers that his heart can't make good on.

_I'm not in love with you_, Kaufman writes back. _Don't worry about breaking my heart. But I find you attractive, and I think I could show you those 'interesting circumstances' you were holding out for. I'll be in Dahngrest for the next two weeks on Union business. Come find me if you're up for it._

A week later he sends her a note embossed with the seal of the Dahngrest inn that says, _I am at your service, Madam President_.

Kaufman finishes her business for the day, makes a few preparations -- reserving a table, picking up a gift of sorts, changing into a dress she likes -- and then goes to collect him.

"Madam President," he says, when he finds her at the door. "It is an honor." He steps back to let her in.

"Regal," Kaufman answers. "You're looking well." She was used to seeing him in casual clothes in Aurnion, but tonight he looks like a duke, in a high-collared shirt and a tailored black suit with just enough gold detailing to suggest his wealth. No tailor could hide the fact that he's built like a mercenary, but despite that he cleans up nicely. "Are you free for dinner?"

He bows. "I'm yours for the evening," he says.

"Just what I wanted to hear," Kaufman says. "Do you have a safeword?"

Regal looks faintly startled, but also, if she's reading him right, hopeful. "Will I need one for dinner?"

Kaufman smiles. "I hope you won't need one at all," she says. She steps closer, so she has to look up to meet his eyes. He smells good. "But it's always best to be prepared, isn't it?"

"Of course," Regal says. He takes a short step back; Kaufman wonders whether it's a conscious retreat or not. "No, I don't."

"Fiertia," Kaufman says.

Regal nods. "Thank you," he says. "What does it mean?"

Oh, she likes a man who's engaged enough to ask questions. "It's the name of a ship I used to own," Kaufman says. "I traded her away more than a year ago now, so I doubt she'll come up in conversation much."

"Noted," Regal says. "I won't ask after the shipping history of Fortune's Market without good cause." He fidgets with the cuffs of his jacket -- not comfortable with the formality, it looks like. She'll keep that in mind. "Shall we be going?"

"Soon," Kaufman says. "I have something for you, before we leave."

"I'm honored," Regal says. "And ashamed I didn't have that much foresight myself."

Kaufman smiles again. "You can owe me," she says. She opens her bag and takes out the collar she picked up on the way here -- heavy chain polished bright, the same kind of training collar she's heard the Imperial knights use with their mastiffs. Regal's eyes widen, and his lips part. "I've heard you prefer jewelry for your wrists," Kaufman says, "but that seems a little unwieldy over dinner."

Regal looks as though he can't believe his luck. "You're too kind," he says. He unbuttons the top buttons of his shirt, and sinks to his knees. Even kneeling, he comes up to her shoulder. "Will you do me the honor?"

"Gladly," Kaufman says. She fits the collar around his neck, passing it carefully under the heavy fall of his hair, and fastens it with a lock at his throat. His pulse beats visibly under his skin, and she strokes it gently before she refastens his shirt buttons.

That makes him look up. "You...don't want it to be visible?"

So letting people see is as important to him as she suspected. "Not yet," Kaufman says. "I'll tell you when I want you to show people."

Regal shivers. "I await your command, Madam President."

Kaufman nods. "I think now we're ready to go," she says. "Shall we?"

"Lead the way," Regal says. He rises to his feet, and Kaufman takes a moment to just savor his closeness -- so much strength, so much power, and he's hers to command.

The place she wants to take him is across town from the inn, in the less-commercial quarter that most visitors to Dahngrest rarely see. Regal seems comfortable at her side, interested in their surroundings but not surprised; Kaufman wonders just how much time an Imperial citizen like him has spent in Guild cities already.

She'd bet he's never been to the Algol Society, though; all of the members are in Guilds, and his only other option would be to visit as a member's guest. Kaufman has to show her own membership token at the door -- the doorman tonight is new, and doesn't know her -- before she can vouch for Regal and bring him inside.

"This is certainly a...unique place to dine," Regal says, as he follows Kaufman past the stocks and the whipping post, both currently unoccupied.

"I thought you might appreciate it," Kaufman says. She glances back at him. "You're not here looking for something ordinary, are you?"

"Indeed not," Regal says. "But I begin to think this evening will surpass all of my hopes."

The dining area has tables in low alcoves around the edges of the room, and a few more on a slightly raised platform in the center. Kaufman crosses to the central platform without hesitation, choosing a table that can be easily observed from almost any corner of the room. There's a faint flush to Regal's cheeks when he steps up to pull out a chair for her.

"Up to your standards, duke?" Kaufman asks.

Regal's blush deepens. "You intend for us to be...a spectacle," he says.

"I do," Kaufman says. She takes her seat and leans back, looking up at him with a little smirk. "When I have you at my beck and call, shouldn't I take advantage?"

"You'll have no complaints from me," Regal says.

Kaufman laces her fingers together, rests her chin on her hands. "Good," she says. "Somehow I didn't think it would cause you to develop a sudden interest in shipping."

Regal laughs, the sound rich and warm, honestly delighted. "Not in the least," he says.

Perhaps he would say more -- it looks as though he intends to -- but then a server comes to ask after their order, and she's a bit distracting. Her costume is clearly modeled on a Hunting Blades theme, with the rabbigo mask and fur cuffs, but there's considerably less of it than any real monster hunter would want to wear to work. She has a collar of her own, red leather with a ring hanging from the front where a leash should be attached. Kaufman thinks she might find the display pretty tempting herself, if she weren't already here with such interesting company.

The server bows. "Welcome to the Algol Society," she says. "May your humble servant provide sir or madam with a drink?"

"We'll have a bottle of the Cados red," Kaufman says, "and a mixed injera plate to share, please."

"Absolutely, Madam President," the server says, bowing her leave, and Kaufman wonders if she would know the face beneath the mask or if her reputation simply precedes her.

"It seems I'm in excellent hands," Regal says as the server walks away. "Thank you."

"You're practically visiting royalty," Kaufman says, and watches the flush creep up Regal's cheeks again. It's impressive how much that affects him -- being reminded of his station, when he's indulging himself in a place like this.

When the server brings the wine, Kaufman suggests that Regal be the one to pour for them. She makes sure to call him by title where the server can hear, watches the way that makes the girl look at Regal curiously and the way that makes Regal squirm. The conversation they make over the first glass of wine is innocuous, wouldn't be out of place at most of the formal dinners Kaufman's been to, but under the table she slips her shoes off so she can slide her foot up the inside of his leg slowly. His breath catches in the middle of his sentence. He's so _willing_.

Kaufman takes another sip of her wine and sets her glass down. "We're beginning to pique people's curiosity," she says. "Have you noticed?"

Regal looks out across the dining area, where the other tables have begun to fill up. Some of the other diners are watching them. "I had been distracted," he admits, "but I won't forget it easily with my attention directed like this."

"They know me," Kaufman says, "and they're probably hearing about you. I expect they're all wondering what a duke of the empire is doing here with me." She gives that a moment to catch his imagination. "I think it's time to show them. Take your shirt off."

Regal's eyes widen, the pupils flaring dark. "Here?" he says. "That's -- all right?"

"It won't get us thrown out, if that's what you mean," Kaufman says. "It might get us more attention, but that's why we're here instead of entertaining ourselves back in my rooms."

"As you wish, madam," Regal says. He shrugs out of his jacket easily enough, but there's an awkward coyness to his movements as he unbuttons his shirt, like going through with it is a struggle. He looks up at her again when he has all his buttons undone, his eyes seeking reassurance. Heat bursts between Kaufman's legs -- the way he surrenders, the way he lets her push him -- and she nods.

Regal peels his shirt off and lets it fall. The collar around his throat gleams in the lamplight. He looks even more imposing stripped than he does when he's dressed; perhaps the tailor was trying to civilize him after all. Kaufman lets her gaze linger, admiring the definition of muscle, the fall of his hair against his shoulders -- the way he's brought his wrists together in front of him, as if it's a comfortable habit.

"Let me see your hands," Kaufman says, stretching her own out over the table. He gives them to her; they're broad and strong, dwarfing her own, the palms strangely soft -- how many people has she known who didn't have weapon-callused palms?

Instead, Regal has thin bands of white scar around his wrists, the chafe marks of old shackles. Kaufman traces them with her fingertips, and when she looks up, Regal's face is flushed, his eyes downcast. "Your regard is intimidating," he says. "I feel very much like new merchandise, being scrutinized to see if I pass muster."

"We could do this that way, if you like," Kaufman says. The idea definitely has appeal. "Duke Regal Bryant, lured away from the safety of the capital and deep into Guild territory, stripped and reduced to a commodity himself."

He squirms in his chair. "Madam President --"

Their little pretend Hunting Blade appears at Kaufman's elbow with a tray. "Is madam still interested in dinner?" she asks.

Kaufman releases Regal's hands. "Of course," she says, and smiles at the pleading, frustrated look Regal gives her. "Thank you."

It's a light meal, and one of its major draws is that all the food can be eaten without utensils. Kaufman takes full advantage of the fact, lingering over her food, licking her fingers clean of the buttery sauces, watching Regal watch her. She tears off more bread and feeds him a few bites herself, and the warm swipe of his tongue across her fingertips tries her patience, too.

"You've barely touched your dinner," she says, when she tires of pretending she's here for the food. "Not hungry?"

"It's lovely," Regal says. "It's just that --"

"You're a little distracted?" Kaufman says. She smiles. "You're not the only one."

She means that she's enjoying herself, too, but he starts, looking out across the room. They do have an audience, the people who come here simply to watch others and the ones who aren't ready to start their own scenes yet. It's impressive, how much being aware of them makes Regal squirm.

He glances back at her. "Forgive me," he says. "I'm not used to this environment at all."

"It suits you," Kaufman says. "I think it looks fetching." She smiles. "And I'm sure I'm not the only admirer you have here tonight."

Regal manages a smile too, and when he meets her eyes his expression seems a little wild, half delighted and half nervous. He doesn't often have the chance to give up control as much as he'd like to, she guesses. "I'm glad I can entertain you," he says. "Is there -- more you would like?"

"More than we'll be able to get to tonight, if I'm being honest," Kaufman says. At some point she's going to want to take her time and explore every inch of that gorgeous, muscular body when they don't have an audience to distract either of them. But for now, she'll use the audience to its fullest. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Possibly more than I really ought to, I feel," Regal says. His smile comes a little more easily this time.

"I'm glad," Kaufman says. She sits back in her chair, holding his gaze. "Show me."

Regal's eyes widen. "Show you?"

Kaufman nods. He could refuse if he wanted, but she doesn't think he will. "Show me. Stand up, slowly, and unbutton your pants." She licks her lips. "I want everyone to be able to see you."

A slow shiver runs through him, and he has to look down again. "You show no mercy," he says.

"You don't want mercy," Kaufman answers.

There's a moment's pause, and then he says, "I must not, after all." He pushes back his chair and stands up, slow, deliberate. His hands fumble on his buttons, his cheeks flushed pink, his eyes closed. Kaufman squirms in her chair, feeling the heavy heat between her legs, the slow build of need when they've barely touched each other. But he's giving himself up to her, wearing her collar, stripping at her command. He glances up at her once more as he begins to peel the fabric back, and she nods: she does want him to go through with it.

His cock is as big as she'd expected, thick and ruddy, mostly hard. "Is this -- what you wanted?" he asks.

"Certainly seems to be what _you_ wanted," Kaufman says. "You didn't even need to be touched."

"No," Regal admits, and his cock jumps.

"I might still like to see that," Kaufman says. "Stroke your cock for me. Slowly. Let me see how much you enjoy this, duke."

"Madam," Regal says, and from his tone it almost sounds like a protest; is this too much? But after a few more shuddering breaths he complies, wrapping one hand around the base of his cock and stroking its length slowly. Muscle flexes in his forearm; it's a pretty picture, and Kaufman thinks it might be even better with shackles. Next time.

"Look at you," Kaufman purrs, leaning forward. "Duke of the empire, president of a renowned company, collared and stripped and performing for my pleasure." That wrests a moan from him, too low to carry across the room. "Don't make yourself come," Kaufman says.

Regal bows his head. "I am at your command," he says.

Kaufman shivers with pleasure. "Then perhaps you should put that silver tongue to good use," she says. The heat that sparks in his eyes at that is thrilling. Kaufman pushes her chair back from the table. "Get down on your knees and come over here," she says.

He kneels gracefully, rocks forward to crawl over to her on his hands and knees. The flex of his shoulders is gorgeous. Kaufman hikes up her skirt, pushes her underwear down and kicks them off. This is a more intimate performance than she's used to putting on in public, too, but she doesn't want to back down when it's going so well.

Regal leans down, kisses the inside of her calf, starts to work his way slowly upward. Kaufman's patience lasts until he's just passed the bend of her knee, and then she reaches down for his collar. The metal is warm now, from lying against his skin; she hooks her fingers in it and pulls him closer, until she can feel the heat of his breath against her cunt.

"Come here," she says, leaning back, hooking one leg over his shoulders to press him down. "Lick."

"My pleasure, Madam President," he says, and closes his eyes as he presses his mouth to her folds. His tongue is quick and agile, focused; someone has taught him well. He laps at her clit, and when she threads her fingers into his hair to pull him up just a fraction of an inch, he hums with pleasure, low and resonant so she can feel it against sensitive flesh.

"Again," she says, clenching her hand tighter, and Regal moans. "Yes," Kaufman says, shivering at the way that feels. "Let me hear how much you want this." He shudders at her feet, moaning again, making more of those sweet, low sounds as he pleasures her. When she reaches the quick, brightening pulse of her first climax, he doesn't stop, just moans in sympathetic pleasure and keeps going. She doesn't fully relax from the first before she's climbing toward the second, her limbs thrumming with tension and glorious heat -- and the second peak is higher, hits harder, than the first, rippling through her and leaving her trembling. She could still go for more; she wants to demand more of him, wants to see if he has what it takes to wear her out.

But not here. Kaufman pulls Regal's head back, and he looks up at her, his eyes needy, his lips slick with her fluids. "Madam?" he says.

"Tell me you'll come home with me, when we're done here," Kaufman says. Her voice sounds pleasure-thickened to her own ears. "There's so much more I want from you."

"It's yours for the asking," Regal promises. "Anything you wish."

"Good," Kaufman says. She stands, carefully, without letting him go, and if he notices that she's using him for balance he doesn't complain. "We're not quite done here yet." She crosses from their table to the edge of the raised platform, her hand still twined in his hair, and he comes with her, still on his knees. He's still hard. "Shall I tell you what we're going to do now?"

Regal nods. "Please," he says. Kaufman lets go of his hair and sinks down beside him; he brings his wrists together at the small of his back, so she settles one hand there. Her hand won't reach all the way around even one of his wrists, but the reminder is all he'll need to stay where he is.

"You're going to show everyone how much you've enjoyed this," Kaufman says. She runs her other hand down his chest, across the sleek muscle of his stomach, and takes hold of his cock. His breath is ragged, and he leans into her touch. "You're going to come, and they're going to watch."


End file.
